I Hate You
by Read Me And Weep
Summary: "The anger from him bit at her soul, but the mercurial lava in his eyes was shooting straight to the lascivious core of her body she sometimes liked to pretend just didn't exist. But standing this close to him, she knew it existed; around him it thrived."


**AN: **Since everyone enjoyed the naughtiness of **Sugar Quills** so much, I thought I'd give something in the same vein another go! But just so you know- this is a bit rough. Not just in the rough draft sense either- also in the rough sex kind of way too…

* * *

><p>"I <em>hate<em> you," she spat angrily, forcefully. She could feel the spit flying from her lips and she didn't even care, she didn't care that her feelings were advertised forcefully across her face or that she was heated or on the verge of becoming irrational.

"The feeling is mutual, Granger," he said, but he didn't look like he was angry. In fact, he looked anything but. He had that stupid smirk on his face and he looked downright smug. He was full of satisfaction from the fact that she, Hermione Granger, was losing her cool. And there was nothing she could do to calm herself except to smack that obnoxious grin off his face.

And so she tried.

She took a step forward and swung her arm back to physically slap that maniacal smirk off his pale face but he was too fast for her and in her anger she could only focus on her arm and his face and was therefore taken by surprise when her hand didn't make contact with his face, but instead was stopped by his fingers gripping around her wrist. She gasped in surprise and a little pain; his grip was tight.

His eyes were steely and angry as he stared into what felt like the depths of her soul.

"I'm not about to let that happen, not _again_," the words slipped out of his mouth as a silky threat.

Her surprise was replaced quickly by her burning anger again, but she laughed with a horrid, sarcastic mirth that only the wrath that Malfoy struck in her could bring about.

"Oh that's right, I don't need to prove to the entire school _again_ that I'm stronger than you are!" she spat the words in his face, her faded rational side trying desperately to send warnings to her brain that she was in a very, very dangerous position right now and not to be so foolish, but she ignored it because in some kind of sickening way she really liked the loss of control this anger was allowing her. It allowed her to just _feel_, and those feelings were deliciously sinful in that they were so dramatic and irrational and so fundamentally not _her_.

"Wouldn't want the whole school to find out you'd been beaten by a poor Mudblood girl _twice_, would you, Malfoy?"

He practically growled at her words and she could feel his fingers grasp her wrist even tighter.

She tried to rip her arm away but he was strong, much stronger than her she realized belatedly.

"Malfoy, let me go!" she threatened, failing yet again to wrench herself from his grasp.

He yanked her forwards by her captured wrist until she was much too close to him; their faces were mere centimeters apart, their fuming, heaving chests almost kissing.

"Don't assume that just because I don't _usually_ hit girls, Granger, I won't make exceptions. There's no around to see anyways," he hissed at her. He let his eyes roam over her body at a teasingly slow pace.

"But then again, you _hardly_ look like a girl anyways, so maybe it doesn't matter if I hit you?"

His eyes terrified her in that moment. Yes, they were angry, so very angry, and she knew the Malfoy family was not exactly known for having tame tempers, but there was something underneath the anger that was far more dangerous. A molten liquidness was in his eyes that seemed to shoot straight through his eyes into hers and then seeped down into her stomach and lapped at her core. The anger from him bit at her soul, but the mercurial lava in his eyes was shooting straight to the lascivious core of her body she sometimes liked to pretend just didn't exist. But standing this close to him, with all the heat from their argument radiating between them, with all the adrenaline from the fight and her irrational anger surging in her, it was becoming very clear that it did exist. It existed and it _thrived_.

But she tried to push him away, because she hadn't lost that much of her composure, not yet.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she spat in his face, and this time the spittle reached him and there was no way he _didn't _see it because it was on his face and the ire that rose in his eyes at that was nothing—_nothing_—compared to what she'd seen before.

"Wrong move, Granger," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

And suddenly she was being spun around, and she was pressed up against the library shelf and her head hurt from being banged into a particularly large volume and his hand still held her wrist but it was now pinned above her head while his other hand gripped her hip tightly, and he was too close to her body for her to even try to lift her leg and knee him or grab her wand from the too far away table and hex him into a million pieces. She was good and truly stuck and still her anger rose and swirled within her, not allowing her to stand down—_just stand down_—and maybe, maybe let him just leave her alone and go away. No, instead she had to keep poking at the angry dragon in front of her.

"You wouldn't," she said, and although her voice came off as she had hoped—strong and confident—she certainly did not feel that way within herself. His eyes looked like a feral animal's right before they struck out and gave their antagonists rabies. But she couldn't bring it in herself to care because she was sick and tired of him thinking he could do what he pleased and not get a reaction. Besides, didn't he do all this to get a rise out of her anyways? To get a reaction from her seemed his greatest pleasure in life, so she was giving it to him. _He_ could deal with the consequences of his own actions when the time came, thank you very much.

He pressed closer to her and she gasped at the heat that she felt radiating from him and shooting straight into her core. She blamed this intense reaction to him on the adrenaline, of course, and the fact that she hadn't had sex in a few months, and to be honest… as much as she hated Malfoy, physically, she knew he was not unattractive. His personality…well, _that_ she still loathed, and always would.

"Really? You want to test me on that theory when I've got you shoved up against a wall, alone and vulnerable?" he asked her, mocking her weakness when she had just been bragging about her strength and ability to belittle him.

She scoffed at him.

"Alright, Malfoy, you've made your point. You're _soo_ masculine, shoving a distracted girl whose half your size against a bookshelf. At least you have all this brawn to make up for your lack of intelligence. Although if you really want to compensate…" she stroked her free hand up and down his muscular arm that had her hip pinned, "you may want to work out a bit more," with that she slapped his arm roughly and let her hand drop to her side, which he quickly grabbed with the hand on her hip and shoved their joined hands into the her hip together.

He glared at her furiously but that molten mystery in his eyes that made her feel warm all over was back with a vengeance after the light touch she had left on him and, she assumed, the contact their hands were currently making. She gulped slightly, but she was so excited. For what, she had no idea, but this loss of control shown so obviously on his face was so satisfying she couldn't help it. Was it the fact that clearly there was some kind of whacked hormonal chemistry going on between them that excited her, or was it the fact that she had unnerved him so much that she could see the emotions so clearly in his eyes because she had hit him so hard he couldn't control himself? She chose to ignore the hormones and go with the latter.

"Don't play the victim card, Granger. You were bragging about being able to hit me and now I've got you pinned. What's it like being all talk? You're like one of those annoying little dogs, all bark and no bite."

The anger that had been swirling around her and egging her on roared to heights unknown at his words. How _dare_ he insinuate that she was nothing more than a few empty threats? She hardly ever threatened him in the first place, and when she did they had meaning behind them, that much was for certain. It felt like she was a thousand degrees hotter in that moment and her vision was blurred as well as her judgment and he was so close to her face—so close—she couldn't move anything but her head and in a flash of what she imagined as brilliance she leaned her head forward and he was looking at her warily but just when their lips looked like they were about to touch she darted her head to the side and bit down where his neck joined his shoulder. His entire body instantly went rigid against her.

She pulled her head back up to look him in the eyes and although the fury was still there, it was clear that the other, more primal side of him was winning over.

She leaned towards him again to whisper in his ear, wondering how far she could take this, how far could she go, how much would it take to unravel the stone cold Draco Malfoy?

"How's that for bite?" she asked, and in a last minute decision, nipped his earlobe, and when she leaned back against the shelf to look at him again she could tell he had actually snapped.

In that millisecond she teetered on the edge of being terrified that he might actually hit her or worse (or was it better?) he might react in that animalistic way his eyes were clearly yearning to do. Even through her scarlet anger she was wondering what the hell had gotten into her, but then he was leaning his whole weight into her and kissing her and all thought stopped completely because all she could think about was how mind numbingly amazing his lips on hers felt and oh how she hated him.

She bit down on his lip to make sure he knew she hated him. He thrust his tongue through her lips to make sure she knew he hated her back. Their tongues battled for dominance, angry at each other, teeth clashing in the most livid and carnal kiss either of them had ever experienced. His hard length was pressed against her belly and she was able to rip her hand from between his digits and her hips so she could grab his neck and yank him closer, hoping it hurt him, digging her nails into his smooth skin, hoping they left cuts.

Just as viciously he grabbed her hip to push their hot bodies together even more and she knew there would be a bruise there in the morning and she bit down hard on his bottom lip again and he dropped her wrist and with his newly freed hand cupped her breast in the most ungentle manner possible as if he was trying to squeeze her into submission.

But she wouldn't give in to his demand to obey. With her free hand she grabbed his biceps and let her fingernails dig in hard, and he bit her lip back in retaliation. And she tried to rip his shirt off, and instead had to angrily unbutton it before he grew impatient and growled, slapping her hands aside and ripping it off himself before moving on to her shirt and threw the shirts on the floor so that their hot, smooth, naked skin could be joined intimately together.

This left even more skin to be open to injury and soon Hermione was biting into his collarbone and sucking, leaving blazing marks upon his skin because she wanted him to remember later that this had happened, that he had lost control to _her_—to Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Golden Girl, that she had bested him. And when the sensation of his grinding hips into her center was too much and her head fell back onto that obnoxiously large book, he began leaving bruising marks upon her neck and her collarbone in retribution. Because if he was going to be marked by the occasion, then so was she.

And damn it all if it didn't feel so good, so good and she hated him for it. She moaned in anger and sexual frustration and rolled her hips into his and grabbed his shoulder and hoped her fingernails were cutting into his flesh deep enough. And then he was ripping her panties off from under her skirt and threw the ruined garment onto the floor by the shirts. He not so gently shoved her legs apart so that he could shove his finger inside of her, trying to best her in this, in pleasure, but she wouldn't have it. She scratched at his chest in her attempts to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants and pull his boxers down and she hoped that hiss he gave was from pain not just pleasure . And then he was roughly grabbing at her bum and lifting her up and slamming her into the shelf and she was wrapping her legs around him and squeezing her thighs against his hips as if she could squeeze him to death by the act. And then suddenly he thrust into her and even though they were both holding on to their raw emotions for each other, it was becoming very hard to think about emotions at all, because it was all about the physical then.

Their lechery knew no bounds as they tried to quiet their moans and groans and grunts by biting into each other's necks and lips and mouths and if anyone else had been in the library surely they would have heard the slapping of flesh. Hermione's nails scraped down Draco's backs as his fingers dug deeper and deeper into her hips as he pushed and pulled within her and she try to give as good as she got and slammed herself back towards him until finally, finally (had it been a lifetime, or only a moment? Who could say?) Hermione felt herself nearing towards something huge and mysterious and she could tell he was nearing it too. He got there first and his hands dug into her hips so deeply she thought he was holding her skeleton and his erratic movements brought her over the edge and she bit down into his neck to avoid screaming through the pain and pleasure and delicious energy that coursed through her in that moment as he groaned into her hair.

He leaned against her into the wall in exhaustion until slowly she let her legs unwrap from around him and he slipped out of her. They stared at each other, neither blinking, both panting from their furious fucking.

"I still hate you, you know," she told him, just to make sure he knew that even though everything had just changed, nothing had changed at all.

He smirked at her, "The feeling is still mutual, Granger."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: <strong>This is not inspired by song this time-not even a quote. Shocker! But I have been thinking about how…wrong this Hermione/Draco thing is. Hermione's a strong, empowered, stubborn, intelligent woman. And we're letting her fall for this guy that's treated her like shit for the past 7 or more years? Because they're in _love_? _**Seriously?**_ I'm all about the power and healing of romantic-swept-off-your-feet-love (secretly, of course, outwardly I'm a hard ass and cynic on the subject), but come _on_. We're encouraging her to forget almost a decade's worth of hatred and tormenting and intolerable cruelty and bullying (not only her but all of her closest friends) because all that passion was really misguided and immature _love_? I don't buy it.

I still love the idea of them together but I'm beginning to feel it may be breeding some false ideas and destructive hopes amongst some of us die-hards out there (mostly myself). All we need is to create another Edward and Bella relationship saga for fans to obsess over and wish for (don't get me wrong, I've read them, even *shudders* guiltily enjoyed them, but when I look at the facts, it is not a compelling story, it's just a 4-book long PG-13 wet dream).

So how about something a little more realistic, but hopefully something just as satisfying? Is that even possible? Someone please tell me something, some reason, that makes them together and in love (angst-ridden or happy or anything in between) alright and not an idiotic and destructive fantasy on my part or I might be devastated and think I've really gone off the deep end.


End file.
